ADDRESS
Our Faculty has kindly insisted upon my saying the first words which our new College addresses to its friends, and I am bound to comply with their desire, although I could have wished that some abler person might have shown the broad significance of those principles which are involved in our work.
True growth is slow (as we measure time) and silent. The tiny sapling shoots up with invisible and noiseless force; so have we worked on—silently. Yet the truest growth has its striking phases of development. We watch with glad anticipation the first tender green of budding foliage; later still we luxuriate in the delicious flowering of the apple-blossoms in May.
It was in 1853, in a parlour in University Place (as some two or three of those now present will remember), that the little slip of a Medical Institution for Women was planted, which slowly grew till it budded into a small hospital in 1857. Many who are here to-night will recall the opening of the hospital wards in Bleecker Street and the cordial words of encouragement then given. They will remember that noble young minister, cut down in his promising youth, who hurried in from his pressing duties in a distant city, carpet-bag in hand, resolved to give us a hearty God-speed, because the good cause was unpopular.
Now the tree has blossomed into a college, and once more the friends gather round to rejoice in its promise of larger usefulness.
It has required fifteen years of patient work—work by faith, for the way has been very dark—to lay the foundation of a college. This has seemed strange to most persons, for many women’s colleges have sprung up meanwhile; hundreds of women have received the physician’s diploma; some have become highly-respected practitioners, and some have gained large sums of money. Of the early friends of the Infirmary, many have died, and some have been discouraged by its slow growth.
It is an easy thing to found a poor college. Our liberal Legislature grants a charter to anyone who asks for it, and an audience can always be gathered together by speeches and music to witness the presentation of learned-looking parchment rolls to a class of well-dressed students; but charter and diploma do not necessarily guarantee the fitting education of a physician. To found a really good college is a work of great difficulty, and up to the present time has been impossible for want of professional assistance—of skilful teachers, and ample clinical provision. To this difficulty has been added another—the want of funds.
We have been facing these two perpendicular cliffs—money and skill—for fifteen years, and striving in every possible way to climb them. Everyone will sympathize with us in relation to the first difficulty, but, at the same time, the promoters of ordinary benevolent enterprises can hardly realize the added difficulty of begging for a principle. People will give to a charity or popular enthusiasm, but very seldom to a principle, more seldom still to such an unpopular idea as the education of women in medicine.
Little by little, however, we have laid one stone upon another, until we have gained a foundation sufficient to stand on. It is small, certainly, but solid, and we all feel great hope of surmounting the first grand difficulty.